


It's In Our Lungs, Our Blood

by xxjinchuurikixx



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Almost Feral, Anal Sex, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Pollen, Some Plot, Tongue Stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 09:38:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18070934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxjinchuurikixx/pseuds/xxjinchuurikixx
Summary: “It’s… it’s amplifying urges. Primal urges influenced by thoughts my wolf has already had.”“So… so, do you want me? Did you… before?”“Yes, Stiles. Always.”“Then let me help.”*Derek gets hit by some sex pollen, and only Stiles can work it out of his system.





	It's In Our Lungs, Our Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Mara finally wrote sex pollen. Up next--fuck or die!!  
> Just kidding, I have no idea what I'm doing next. My mind is a fucken clustercuck.
> 
> xo, mo. Come yell at me on tumblr! [xxjinchuurikixx](http://xxjinchuurikixx.tumblr.com/)

  
  


“Is he gonna be okay?” Stiles says, hands awkwardly fluttering around Derek’s shoulders.

Derek’s gray Henley is stuck to his back with a dark stain of sweat, his forehead shining despite the ducked angle of his head. He looks up at Stiles through his lashes. “He’s going to be fine,” Derek huffs.

“Not asking you. You’re not an expert.”

Deaton tilts Derek’s head up and takes another look at his pupils, which are nearly fully dilated. They don’t respond to the flashlight Deaton shines at them. “You think it was a darach?”

“Or a really ugly witch.”

Turning his attention back to the bruising on Derek’s ribs, Deaton says, “And the color of the powder it blew in his face?”

“Gold. Pink and gold,” Stiles says.

“And when you stabbed it in the back with your kyanite dagger—“

_ Poof _ . Stiles recreates the sound and action with his lips and arms.

Derek laughs, breathless and shaking.

“Derek, put your shirt down,” Deaton says, stepping away. “It’s not wolfsbane, so it’s not toxic. Your system will work through it… Slowly.”

“What do I do?” Derek grumbles, crossing his arm over his chest, laying his hand over the bruising. After inhaling the dust, he fell, and fell hard.

“I’ll give you some distilled wolfsbane to take every six hours for the next twenty four hours or so. It will counter the effects of most toxins that could have infected you. At least, it will dull any side effects until I can figure out what it hit you with.”

Derek looks at the vial of his blood on the other counter, the tiny beaker full of the powder Stiles managed to get out of his hair. He looks back at Deaton and nods.

“Stiles, if you would,” Deaton says, and he heads out of the clinic room.

Stiles sets his hand on Derek’s knee and squeezes. “You really had my back out there tonight.”

Derek smiles, the effort clear on his face as he slouches forward. “We’re a team. Good job stabbing that thing in the back of the neck.”

Grinning, Stiles pulls his little dagger out of his back pocket and flips it open, the vein of kyanite between silver and steel gleaming black. “This thing isn’t a bat, but it’s pretty handy.”

“Stiles,” Deaton calls, and Stiles flushes, hurrying after him.

They’re in the medicinal room, everything smelling of astringent and bleach, and Stiles watches as Deaton opens a secret compartment behind normal veterinary medicines and pulls out a few vials of wolfsbane from a shelf.

“I’m betting it was a darach, and it hit him with a ground bone powder intended to strike werewolves with fever. It explains the sweating and the delayed healing.” Deaton closes the small box of vials and hands it to Stiles. “Derek is a born wolf, and an alpha. His own body should be able to fight off the effects quickly enough.”

Stiles looks down at his scuffed shoes and nods. He wishes he had been quicker. Derek is sweating and hurting and they’re not even sure why, because Stiles had been messing around before the darach lunged out of a tree and surprise attacked them.

“He’ll need to be monitored. He needs a close eye on him,” Deaton says.

Stiles nods. “I’ll tell my dad. We can go to Derek’s place—he’ll be comfortable there.” Stiles is already pulling his phone out of his back pocket to text his dad, but Deaton grabs his shoulder and forces him to look up.

“A  _ very _ close eye, Stiles.”

Stiles blinks.

“Derek isn’t himself right now. He could become feral, or he could shift without meaning to. You need to be extremely careful for the next twenty four hours,” Deaton says firmly.

Very slowly, Stiles nods. “So maybe I shouldn’t be the one who watches him?”

“We aren’t putting him in a kennel.”

“Damn. Okay.” Stiles texts his dad, who’s working a night shift anyway, then goes back into the exam room with the distilled wolfsbane shots and a smile. “Alright, let’s get you home.”

“Your house,” Derek says, still rubbing the tender muscles over his ribs.

“Huh?”

“I don’t want… take me to your house. Your room,” Derek says. He closes his eyes and breathes deep through his nose. “Your scent—it’s very human.”

“Uh… thank you?”

“I just mean… My house is too big. Too many wolf smells, the forest.” Pausing, Derek looks up at Stiles, his eyes soft and tired.

Without hesitation, Stiles starts nodding. “Okay, okay. No worries, big guy. Smaller space, good Stiles smell. We can do that.”

Derek hugs himself tighter. “Maybe we should just put me in a kennel.”

Laughing, Stiles awkwardly runs his hand through Derek’s sweaty hair, pushing it back from his face. “We’re gonna be fine. Come on, let’s go get you out of here.”

Derek sighs, climbing off the exam table, letting himself accept Stiles’ shoulder for support. He lets Stiles wrap an arm around his waist, hauling him close, and they make it out to the parking lot, where Stiles stuffs Derek very gently into the backseat.

Lying down on the seat, Derek curls in on himself and closes his eyes.

“It’s gonna be okay, Derek,” Stiles says, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. 

He watches Derek in the rearview mirror most of the drive home.

*

“Okay, I’m gonna get you some water. Do you need help up the stairs?” Stiles says as he locks the front door, watching Derek hobble over to the stairs.

“No, I’m… no,” Derek mumbles, then starts his ascent.

“Be right there, big guy.” Stiles goes into the kitchen and gets two big glasses of water, heading up the stairs while he reads a text from Scott, which is very difficult with a glass of water in hand and one hugged to his chest.

When he gets in the doorway of his room, Stiles halts, his stomach flopping awkwardly. 

“Derek?” His voice cracks sharply around the name.

Derek turns his face slightly, huffing loudly. “I’m not dead,” he says, though he does look pretty dead. He’s lying on Stiles’ bed on his stomach, his pants, shoes, and one sock discarded, arms stuffed up around a rumpled comforter. He pushes his face against Stiles’ pillow and breathes deep, slow. “Calmer now.”

“Sweating still?”

Derek grumbles. He curls his legs up, thick, hairy thighs and calves twisting into Stiles’ blankets as he rolls like a cat in sunshine.

“Water,” Stiles says, making Derek take one glass, watching him drink half of it. He looks away from Derek’s throat as it works, ignores how the tangle of Derek’s mussed, sweat-damp black hair looks on his pillow, avoids those thighs hugging a mound of tangled blanket.

“Uh, first dose of wolfsbane? Do you want it orally or—“

Derek grumbles, pawing at the little box of vials. “It’s not a suppository.”

Stiles hands him one vial, which Derek uncaps and then drinks like a shot. He grimaces. The smell of Derek’s breath when he exhales sharply is bitter mint and spice.

“Good job. I’m glad we don’t have to get stabby with you.”

“I’d trust you not to miss my vein,” Derek says, eyes squeezed shut as Stiles takes the empty glass from him and then makes him drink more water.

Stiles sits on the floor beside the bed, pulling up his laptop to put on some Netflix.

Derek’s fingers touch the bare nape of his neck, nails scraping lightly over the skin. “’mere.”

“Begging your pardon, madam?” Stiles says, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

“Cold… it’s too cold.”

“Derek, you are sweating like crazy. You have a fever—a wolf fever. If you’re cold, cover yourself up with the blankets the right way,” Stiles huffs, clicking on the second installment of Planet Earth episodes. He usually falls asleep on them because they’re so soothing when baby animals aren’t dying.

Derek whines loudly, the sound completely inhuman, and Stiles twists his head around to gawk at him. 

“Are you crying?”

Looking down and away, Derek tugs at Stiles’ shirt collar. “…please.”

Derek looks so small and pathetic, hugging Stiles’ pillow, curled up soft and little. Stiles groans loudly and sets his laptop on the bedside table where he can still see and kind of hear it. He pulls his over shirt off and kicks out of his pants, climbing onto the bed in his underwear.

“No skin touching. You’re too warm,” Stiles huffs, and Derek nods, letting Stiles arrange himself into the bed with blankets between them.

Stiles lifts his arm to get situated, and Derek immediately noses into his ribs, chuffing as he buries his face into Stiles’ armpit and drags him closer with a fist in the front of his shirt.

Stiles blinks. “Uhm…”

“Your scent… it’s… it’s helping,” Derek says slowly, sighing heavily as he holds Stiles close to him. “I can think better with you close.”

Slowly, Stiles exhales, and he drops his arm around Derek’s shoulders, letting him stay close, breathing in Stiles’ scent. “Okay… that’s good. Glad I can… help.”

“You always do,” Derek murmurs, his weight settling heavy against the bed.

Stiles can almost feel the exact moment Derek falls asleep on him, and he thumps his head against the wall and tilts his chin so he can watch David Attenborough talk about crazy freaking rock climber goats. Derek beside him, against him, holding him… It’s all very relaxing, very comfortable.

Halfway into the episode, Stiles passes out, his phone still on vibrate.

He doesn’t hear when Deaton calls him, or when Scott texts him. He just hears Derek breathing him deep, and the sound of life finding a way in the harshest environments.

*

It’s nearly midnight when Stiles startles awake, the dog in the neighbor’s yard barking profusely. He’s always a little dizzy after a nap, but this feels like a new level of delirium as he comes awake through fog and cobwebs. His throat is dry, his laptop has fallen asleep, and he’s sweating hot.

It takes him a second to realize that he’s panting, that his body is hot and aching because he’s hard in his boxers. It takes him  _ less _ than a second to realize he’s in such a state because Derek Hale is in his bed, limbs tangled around Stiles’ body, rocking his dick up against the curve of Stiles’ ass through his underwear. 

“Der…  _ Derek! _ ” Stiles yelps, a clawed hand pawing down his belly, fangs and hot breath wetting the back of his neck. “Derek, wake up.” Stiles tries not to arch his back, tries not to grind into Derek’s lazy rutting. He tries to stifle the moan that bleeds from his lips when Derek grabs him by the hip and holds him close, holds him still.

His efforts are half-assed at best, and Stiles bites his lip and knocks his head back, hard. Derek snorts loudly, Stiles’ skull having given him a good hit to the nose, and when he releases his hold, Stiles rolls off the bed to the floor with a graceless thump.

“Holy fuck, what? What the hell is wrong with you?” Stiles yells, stomping over to his lamp to light up the room. He regrets it pretty immediately when he sees Derek lying across his bed, huge dick beautifully outlined in his tight briefs, shirt stuck to his chest with sweat, rubbing his nose like a miserable puppy.

“What happened?” Derek says, voice sandpaper-rough. He touches his throat, looking dazed as he pants through a mouth wide open, full of fang. “I’m thirsty…”

“What happened? You totally broke bro-code when you decided to hump my sleeping ass!” Stiles growls, but he crosses the room and hands Derek his glass of water.

Derek drinks greedily, his hair plastered to his forehead. When he hands the cup back to Stiles, he looks down the line of his body and, carefully, drags a blanket over his lap. He sits up, slouching in the middle of the bed pitifully. “I’m sorry… I was—I was dreaming.” Derek’s eyes find Stiles’ dick, valiantly tenting his loose boxers. His pupils dilate. “You’re hard…”

“You’re lucky you’re still poisoned, because—fuck,” Stiles breaks off, picking his phone up off the floor. “How did you get down here?” 

Stiles taps his phone open and scrolls through his missed calls, ignoring the voicemail from Deaton in favor of opening his texts from Scott.

He reads them rapidly, the words blurring together until they have very little meaning other than ‘ _ Derek should be fine by morning’ _ .

“It wasn’t bone dust…” Stiles says quietly, reading through the texts again, slower.

Derek looks up at him, brows knit together. “It… it’s not a fever drug?”

“Not from what Deaton told Scott… Says you’ll be fine by morning, but the traces of pollen have to be worked out of your system,” Stiles says.

Derek’s hands work the comforter, kneading it like a discontented cat. “So… I’m okay?”

“…Not exactly,” Stiles says slowly, looking at the last text from Scott. The one in all caps.

_ MAY MAKE HIM FERAL. PROCEED WITH CAUTION. SERIOUSLY, STILES!!!! _

“Does silver lily pollen mean anything to you?” Stiles asks, glaring at his phone.

Derek blinks at him. “…Why?”

“Deaton said that was the key component in the powder the darach used on you… Along with trace amounts of violet orchid?”

Derek rakes a hand through his hair hard, his fangs still dropped when he speaks again. “It’s familiar to wolves. Its effects are very specific, and hardly ever used as a… weapon.”

Stiles nods, holding his hands out. “Alright, well, can you tell me what it  _ is _ used for?”

Looking at the ceiling, Derek groans, sweat glistening on his throat. “It’s like ambrosia for wolves. It’s powerful and almost harmless, but I’ve never seen it used outside of recreation.”

“Is it werewolf weed?” Stiles gawks. “Are you serious? You’re stoned?”

“Try roofied,” Derek snarls. His eyes flash, and he looks away from Stiles and covers his mouth. “Well, even that isn’t correct. I can still understand what goes on around me, and I still have some will to resist. But my control on my wolf is much thinner than usual.”

Stiles groans loudly. “Derek, what is the silver lily pollen doing to you?”

Derek looks at Stiles, his pupils blown, his hands shaking.  “It’s… it’s amplifying urges.  _ Primal _ urges influenced by thoughts my wolf has already had.” He looks down, so ashamed Stiles can practically smell it on him. “It’s like… ecstasy. A viagra for a wolf.”

Slowly, the reality and severity of the situation dawns on Stiles. He looks at Derek, at his heaving chest and sweaty shoulder blades, his red mouth and dark eyes. “Oh my gosh… Oh, shit, you want to hump things!”

“Not! Not  _ things… _ ” Derek brings his knees up to his chest and hugs them there. He chews his lip roughly, looking at the dark window of Stiles’ room, like he’ll bolt at any moment.

Stiles crosses the room and kneels at the edge of the bed, reaching up to set his hands over Derek’s arms crossed over his shins. “Hey, talk to me… If we can fix this, we  _ will _ fix this. Do you need some time alone? Wanna jerk it out of your system?”

Derek laughs, the sound pained. “Please, don’t ever say anything like that again.”

“Well, you’ve been roofied, as you said. To be honest, at this current time, I can’t understand why the darach would have hit you with sex pollen,” Stiles says, rubbing his thumbs across Derek’s bare forearms.

Derek looks up at him, the tinge of red in his eyes nearly swallowed by black. He’s looking at Stiles like he’s had an epiphany… Like he knows exactly why.

Stiles’ lips part, his eyes dragging down to Derek’s feet nestled into the blankets. “It… Uh, you said the lily pollen amplifies primal urges. For your wolf. So… does that mean, like… that means…”

Derek rests his chin on his knees. “The darach didn’t expect me to exhibit such resilience to the pollen. Most wolves are quickly sent into a frenzy, adrenaline and arousal rising to the surface as if the moon itself were calling to us. It expected me to tackle you to the ground—like an animal. It thought it could escape if it distracted me.”

“Did you know this the whole time?”

Derek shakes his head carefully. “When the fever hit me, it was closer to pain than pleasure… Being close to you didn’t rile me up—it was comforting.” Stiles finally glances up at him, and despite looking feral and tired and sweaty, Derek is looking at him with a tender smile. “My wolf would never hurt you…”

“I know that,” Stiles says without hesitation. “I mean, aside from you constantly pushing me against things.”

Derek’s smile is strained. “Being close to you… it’s no longer calming me down.”

“I’ve… noticed.” Nodding slowly, Stiles thinks about what he should and shouldn’t say, and then lets himself ask, despite his better judgment. “So… so, do you want me? Did you… before?” He swallows, and Derek watches the motion of his throat.

“Yes, Stiles. Always.” Derek says it with such certainty, such ease, Stiles shudders, his entire body thrumming with warmth. 

He ducks his head, resting his forehead against Derek’s arms. He breathes in the soft scent of Derek’s skin, fever-warm under his hands and forehead. “Then let me help.”

“Stiles, I… I can’t.” Derek starts to uncurl from himself, like he’s going to make that escape attempt, and Stiles sits back and holds onto his forearms.

“I know you’re feverish and drugged, but you seem pretty coherent. If I say it’s okay, and you say it’s okay, then everything will be alright,” Stiles says. “If we both want it, then…”

Derek’s brows furrow tightly, his mouth falling open, his breath warm across Stiles’ face. “You… you want me?”

“Basically since forever, yeah. Couldn’t you smell it?”

“All teenagers smell like arousal and irritation. What was I supposed to do with you?” Derek growls.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles pulls on Derek’s arms until he gets his hands loose. “Let’s see. Here’s you, here’s me.” He uses Derek’s hands to explain. With the hand that has been labeled ‘Derek’, Stiles slaps the other hand. “I couldn’t exactly clarify that the arousal and irritation was solely for you.”

“You’re still just a pup,” Derek sighs, shaking his head.

“Hey, I’m only six years younger than you. And as of three years ago? Totally legal,” Stiles says, grinning. He takes Derek’s hands and holds them in his, letting the heat seep into his palms. “Derek, let me help.”

Derek looks at him, eyes paling, the red being replaced with jade and honey, despite Derek’s pupils still being blown.

Stiles smiles. “We’re a team. I want you… and if you wanna talk about this more, then we will, Sourwolf.” Stiles nudges their foreheads together. “But right now, I just need to make you feel better.”

Growling, Derek unfolds himself, setting his feet on the floor as he grabs Stiles under his armpits. He lifts him up onto his lap, Stiles letting himself go easily, arms around Derek’s neck.

“There we go,” Stiles hums, carding his fingers through Derek’s sweaty hair.

Derek buries his face in Stiles’ neck, big arms wrapping around his waist, holding him close. “Stay with me. Please, stay.”

“I’m right here, big guy. Whatever you need.”

“Holding you… I just wanna hold you,” Derek groans, dragging his beard down Stiles’ neck, pushing his face into his chest.

Stiles hugs Derek tighter, settling down on his lap. “Okay. That’s great.” He touches his lips to Derek’s temple, breathing in the musky, heavy scent of sweat mixed with the smell of Derek’s pomade.

Grumbling, Derek hugs him closer, and Stiles breathes in sharply through his nose when he feels the thick, hot press of Derek’s dick through his briefs against Stiles’ ass. Stiles breathes deep through his nose, scraping his nails over Derek’s scalp. 

“You okay?” Derek mumbles, and Stiles can feel him smile against his collar.

Stiles swallows hard. “Your dick is getting acquainted with my ass. It’s like a wet dream come true. I just feel like I’m gonna come in my shorts.”

Derek growls, and Stiles’ head falls back, a broken sound coming from his throat as Derek licks up his pulse as he pulls Stiles down against his lap to grind into him. “Do it.”

The moan that escapes Stiles’ throat then is reedy and high, and he tangles his fingers in Derek’s hair and pulls his neck back. “Hey, we’re trying to get the sex pollen out of  _ your _ system. Not sure if me getting off on your lap will assist that.”

“One way to find out,” Derek says, a predatory grin spreading across his lips.

Stiles shivers, rolling down into Derek’s next thrust. “Fuck, you’re big.”

“Wanna touch you. More,” Derek says, his voice breaking on a whine.

Stiles kneels back, Derek reluctantly letting him go so he has more room. He pulls his shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor as he scoots forward, straddling Derek’s hips. Derek’s hands instantly find his sides, claws gentle, running up Stiles’ skin and spreading chills up Stiles’ back and down his arms.

“Beautiful,” Derek sighs, big hands framing Stiles’ ribs, pulling him close so he can drag his beard along Stiles’ breastbone.

Stiles gets his hands back in Derek’s hair, scratching at his scalp and nape before sliding one hand down the back of Derek’s shirt. “Can we get rid of this, too?”

Derek sucks a mark into the tender flesh above Stiles’ left nipple, then pulls back and tears his shirt over his head. His claws leave holes in the fabric.

“Hey, I liked that shirt,” Stiles grumbles, running his palms down Derek’s broad chest, curling his fingers into the soft, curling hair that grows thick down between his pecs. “God, you’re just… You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

Derek’s hands press tender bruises into the skin above Stiles’ hips. He runs one hand up Stiles’ back, grabbing him by his nape. “You feel so good, Stiles.  Smell so  _ good _ ; always. You’ve always smelled so good,” Derek moans, dragging his tongue across Stiles’ clavicle before biting down. 

Stiles’ hips buck into the sting, the ache bleeding as soon as it came, replaced with tingling pleasure. “Shit, Derek.”

“I wanna make you come,” Derek says, his voice low and rough, resolved. Stiles makes a pathetic sound as Derek lifts him up, and then he’s nestled into the blankets with Derek on top of him, his weight heavy between Stiles’ thighs. “What do you want? I can lick you—want me to eat you out?” He ruts his dick up against the inside of Stiles’ thigh, and Stiles hooks his legs over Derek’s hips and  _ whines _ .

“Derek, holy  _ shit _ ,” Stiles pants. He lets Derek grab him by the wrists, sliding his arms up over his head while Derek noses into his armpit. Derek rolls his hips down, humping and grinding into Stiles, making his dick leak in his boxers. “I want you to come for me. That’s what I want.” Stiles tilts his head back, giving Derek full access to his bared throat. “I want to feel it all over me—inside me. I wanna smell like my alpha.”

The sound Derek makes seems closer to pain than pleasure, but then he releases Stiles’ wrists in favor of holding his face between his hands.

When Derek kisses him, Stiles swallows the pitiful, needy sounds the wolf spills between his lips. He feels Derek’s fangs behind his lips, licks tentatively across the seam of Derek’s mouth, just because he can. He’s been starving for so long, but now Derek’s hunger is even greater than Stiles’ own.

“Hands… I need your hands on me,” Derek whimpers, lifting himself up onto his elbows and knees over Stiles, the action forcing Stiles’ legs open wide. “I can’t control the shift, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Stiles nods. He definitely wants Derek’s mouth all over him, and he would probably shoot off immediately if Derek got his fingers inside him. “Okay. Let’s take the edge off, big guy. Let me see, let me take care of you.”

Derek kisses him again, then on the corner of Stiles’ mouth, his cheekbone, his temple. “Fuck, please.”

Stiles isn’t sure where Derek’s patience or control is, but he does know where his is, and he’s not about to stick his hand in Derek’s underwear and jerk him off just for the sake of it.

He presses his palms to Derek’s throat, feeling his beating pulse through the tender flesh. He runs his hands down Derek’s sides, fingertips teasing at the waistband of his briefs before sliding back up, cupping Derek’s pecs, clawing at the muscle. 

Derek seems to greatly appreciate everything Stiles does, dropping his head down so their foreheads are touching, eyes shut like lead curtains. His hips tremble every time Stiles touches at his waistband, and when Stiles turns his palm over and dips a few fingers down into the thick, soft hair at the base of Derek’s dick, the sound Derek makes is like recorded bliss.

Biting his lip, Stiles returns to Derek’s chest, fingers playing through the thick hair there before Stiles rests his thumbs against Derek’s dusky nipples. He brushes over them in slow, light strokes, teasing with his nails until the nubs have hardened to peaks under his touch. 

Derek’s hips rut into the empty air between them. His brows furrow tight.

“You like that?” Stiles asks, grinning when he pinches Derek’s nipples and rolls them, the effect it has on Derek making Stiles’ cock twitch.

Derek’s mouth falls open, fangs bared, and he looks at Stiles with those bright red eyes, tongue darting out to wet his lips. 

“Logging that away for later,” Stiles says, then runs his hands back down Derek’s sides, getting handfuls of Derek’s ass and squeezing. Derek ruts down into him, Stiles’ legs falling open further so Derek can nestle in the V between them.

They could probably both come like that, Derek rubbing their dicks together through two layers of cotton, Stiles kneading his taut ass with both hands. But Stiles has other plans.

“Okay?” Stiles says, one hand sliding over Derek’s ribs, up to the space between his shoulder blades. He can feel the raised edges of the triskele, cooler than Derek’s sweat-damp, fevered skin. His other hand goes to the front of Derek’s underwear, playing with the soft hair peeking out of the waistband.

Derek nods, mouth falling open as Stiles pulls his hand back out before rubbing Derek over the thin cotton. Derek’s cock is fully hard, huge under Stiles’ palm. He brushes his fingers over the wet patch leaking through the black fabric, then curls them around Derek’s shaft and gives it a few soft strokes.

Growling, Derek mouths at Stiles’ jaw, breathing hot over his ear. “Stiles, I’m gonna come.”

Stiles blinks up at him, his hand almost flying off of Derek’s dick. “What?”

“I’ve wanted your hands on me for years, and I’m full of werewolf sex drugs… I am going. To come.”

Stiles puts his hands on Derek’s hips, hooking his fingers into his briefs. The elastic slides down, freeing the head of Derek’s cock, flushed nearly purple with need, clear precum drenching the hood of his foreskin.

Licking his lips, Stiles gets Derek’s briefs down his thighs, and his cock hangs down heavy against Stiles’ belly. “Fucking hell, I wanna feel it inside me.”

Derek groans, eyes squeezed shut tight. “Stiles, fuck.”

“Promise me,” Stiles grins, then wraps one hand around Derek’s girth. His middle finger doesn’t even touch his thumb, and Stiles rubs the slick mess Derek has made down to his balls, pulling his foreskin back completely. “Sonovabitch,” Stiles hums, releasing Derek’s hip so he can get both hands on Derek. He rubs his thumb in a circle across Derek’s slit, fingertips curling under the glands, and then Derek’s entire body quakes over him.

“ _ Stiles, _ ” Derek moans, pushing his face into Stiles’ neck roughly as he starts coming. 

With Derek’s big body on top of him, Stiles can’t see it happen, but fuck, he can feel it. It’s a thick, hot mess, Stiles stroking Derek through it as his cock splashes a ridiculous amount of cum onto Stiles’ abdomen. It drips over his knuckles, gathers in the dip of his trembling tummy, and Stiles turns his face into Derek’s sweaty hair and moans.

“Good, Derek. Good boy,” Stiles sighs, and Derek’s arms tense before they burrow under Stiles and hug him close. Stiles keeps stroking Derek’s cock, milking every drop out of him until Derek lays down atop him, smearing the mess between their hips, across their bellies.

Derek cups the side of Stiles’ face, and Stiles turns his face into it, kissing Derek’s broad palm. Derek sits up on his elbows, looking at Stiles with reverence glowing in his emerald-gold eyes.

Stiles grins. “Your pupils are smaller,” he says. Getting Derek’s rocks off is exactly how they will get the silver lily pollen out of his system. Stiles realizes Derek’s claws and fangs have receded, some semblance of calm returning to Derek’s features.

The smirk Derek gives him makes Stiles’ balls feel tight, and when Derek sets his palm on Stiles’ stomach it trembles under the touch. Derek rubs his cum into Stiles’ skin, from his drenched abdomen up over his nipples, to his bruised collar bone. The noise that rumbles in Derek’s chest could only be described as a purr.

“You smell so good,” Derek groans, lying down so he can lick and suck at Stiles’ throat again, still smearing cum into his chest.

“Yeah, you may have mentioned that,” Stiles teases, blushing.

Derek kisses his cheek, rising up onto his knees between Stiles’ legs. “I wanna taste you,” he growls, leaving no room for argument.

Stiles, of course, must argue. “Didn’t we establish that you getting off was the solution to this?”

Derek scoots down Stiles’ body, hooking his fingers into his boxers. “My wolf being sexually satisfied is the solution. And my wolf wants to get my mouth on you.” He pulls Stiles’ boxers down and off, Stiles’ legs splayed wide around his hips.

Against Derek’s thigh, his briefs still stretched tight across the flesh, Stiles watches Derek’s cock twitch, still almost completely full. He thumps his head back down against his pillow. “You do whatever you think will help, Der.”

Derek purrs again, pressing his face to the soft skin of Stiles’ inner thigh, burying his nose against the hair there. Stiles doesn’t manscape hardcore, but he does keep his pubes tidy, and when Derek opens his mouth and chuffs over the thickest, softest hair around the base of Stiles’ dick, Stiles’ hand flies down and pulls at his hair.

He lifts his hips into Derek’s face, and then Derek sets his hands on Stiles’ narrow hips and pins them to the bed. “Don’t make me bite you, pup,” he warns, dragging his pearly teeth over Stiles’ sack.

The room feels much smaller, much hotter, when Derek licks over the soft, red tip of Stiles’ cock. Stiles is of average length, a heavier girth, and cut, but when Derek takes him to the back of his throat and sucks hard, nose buried in soft hair, Stiles ruts up into the feeling.

“Derek, oh, fuck. I’m sorry,” Stiles gasps, releasing Derek’s hair shakily.

Derek lifts one hand and touches Stiles’ wrist, guiding his hand back to Derek’s hair. He pulls almost completely off, slurping wetly at the head, eyes half-mast.

Stiles tangles his fingers back into Derek’s hair, his other hand coming up to his mouth. He sucks the taste of Derek’s cock off his fingers, using his knuckles to muffle the desperate, needy sounds he’s making. “Shit, Derek, your mouth. Ah…  _ Ah! _ ”

Derek pulls off, a shining strand of spit connecting his lips to the tip of Stiles’ dick before he leans in and licks at the head, wet and messy. “Can I eat you out?”

Stiles’ stomach twists, burning and violent. “ _ Fuck _ , whatever you want.  _ Anything _ you want, Derek.”

“I want what you want,” Derek murmurs, ducking down to nuzzle at the base of Stiles’ cock, breathing deep, one hand lazily jacking Stiles off. “I wanna make you feel good.”

“Everything you do feels good,” Stiles gasps, and then he shoots up into a sitting position, slapping at Derek’s head when Derek bites the inside of his thigh. “Hey!”

Derek grins. “You’re sensitive,” he hums, kissing the spot that’s already blooming lilac and rose, a secret little flower printed in Stiles’ skin by Derek’s teeth.

Stiles wants to rebuttal that, but when Derek crawls over Stiles to kiss him, everything bleeds into the taste of himself on Derek’s lips.

Stiles chases Derek’s mouth when he pulls away, his entire being shaking as Derek kneels between his legs again. He grabs Stiles under his knees and pulls him down, then pushes him up, practically folding him in half. Stiles gasps, his cock—fully hard and wet from Derek’s mouth, thank you—drips across his belly.

“God, look at you,” Derek snarls.

Stiles’ stomach clenches when Derek’s hands slip down his thighs, cupping his ass, thumbs spreading his cheeks apart. “You’re killin’ me, Smalls.”

Smiling, Derek huffs, “Not yet,” breath hot and wet against Stiles’ furled hole. The first lick is so filthy and wet Derek’s spit drips down Stiles’ thighs, his mouth drenching Stiles in seconds.

Stiles quakes, toes curling, fingers clawing at the comforters as he cries out, sharp and needy. “Oh, fuck, Derek, fuck,  _ aah-ah! _ ”

Derek teases his tongue against Stiles’ hole, poking at the tight pink muscle before lapping from his tailbone to his sack. He suckles the soft skin, groaning loudly. When he pulls back, he rubs his thumb over Stiles’ wet, soft hole.

“You taste so fucking good, Stiles. Fuck,” Derek snarls, eyes flashing red as he sinks the tip of his thumb inside of Stiles, crooking it deep.

Back bowing off the bed, Stiles grinds down against the intrusion inside him. Derek ducks his head, pulling his thumb out, replacing it with his tongue. He licks and licks, then slips his index finger inside of Stiles and presses deep. He licks his tongue around his finger inside Stiles, teasing his rim.

Stiles whines, his cock aching, and sweat mists across his skin. “This is… acceptable,” he gasps out, feeling Derek’s finger curl inside him.

“Acceptable, huh? You’re practically begging for it.”

“Well, I’m not the one drooling like a mutt,” Stiles snarks back.

Growling, Derek lets an obscene amount of thick slime drip from his mouth, and he slides a second finger inside of Stiles and presses them both against his prostate. “You like it. You like how wet and messy I’m making you; don’t lie.”

Stiles whimpers, wriggling his hips. The stretch feels so sweet, heat curling in his stomach like licks of smoke. His cock drips onto his belly. “Sh-shut up.”

“You think I don’t smell how turned on you are? Think I can’t smell the precum leaking from your cock—the blood rushing to your face?” Derek licks his tongue around his fingers, nose against Stiles’ perineum as he breathes deep, the musky, pure scent making his mouth water. “So maybe it’s the silver lily making me needy. What’s your excuse?”

Wriggling his hips, Stiles squeezes his eyes shut. “Derek…”

“You  _ like _ this. You need me so bad, don’t you, pup?” Derek rakes his teeth over the softness of Stiles’ taint, nosing back up to lap and suck at his balls.

“Fuck, Derek, yes. I need, I need you.” Stiles’ hips buck, his hole clutching greedily at Derek’s thick knuckles. 

“Stiles,  _ fuck _ ,” Derek snarls, and then Stiles feels the molten heat of Derek’s come spurting across his ass and between his thighs.

“Oh, holy shit, Derek,” Stiles huffs, clenching down around Derek’s fingers as the wolf shakes through his orgasm. Stiles picks his head up just enough to see the sticky white mess dripping down his thighs, Derek’s cock heavy and thick still, resting against the curve of soft skin between Stiles’ dick and thigh. Dropping his head back down, Stiles pants, “Oh wow.”

Derek’s fingers curl in him, slip free, and then Stiles feels them working through the mess. There’s a moment of mind-numbing pleasure before Derek stuffs his come-slick fingers back into Stiles, crooking them deeper than he’s gone before, pressing relentlessly to Stiles’ prostate.

Stiles bodily curls upward, keening a loud, broken sound as he looks at Derek, pupils blown, hands trembling.

“You said you wanted my cum inside you,” Derek growls, pulling his fingers out. He gathers more of the sticky mess from between Stiles’ thighs and drives his fingers deep, filling Stiles with white-hot licks of pleasure and his claim.

“Derek,  _ fuck _ .”

“Wanna fuck you. Wanna hold you down and breed you full. Please, Stiles, fuck—let me—“

“Yes, Derek, fuck yes,” Stiles babbles, rocking down onto Derek’s thick fingers as he reaches helplessly for his bedside table.

Derek leans over him, kissing Stiles warmly on the mouth as he gets into the second drawer and fishes out the bottle of lube.

“Please, fuck me. Fuck me, fuck me, alpha,” Stiles begs, and Derek breaks the bottle with his claws, lube splashing across Stiles’ belly and Derek’s cock.

“ _ Fuck… _ ” He growls around a mouthful of teeth before clenching his jaw. He looks up at Stiles with pleading ruby eyes.

“It’s okay… It’s okay, let me,” Stiles says, sitting up. He rubs his fingers through the mess, getting his whole hand drenched in lube. “Let me open myself up for you.” He kisses Derek’s chin, his jaw, buries his face in the crook of his neck as he reaches between his thighs and gets three fingers into himself. It’s almost easy after having Derek’s huge fucking fingers in him, and Stiles moans into Derek’s throat and scissors himself.

“Let me see,” Derek croons, nudging Stiles onto his back so he can watch, holding Stiles’ thighs open as he watches him finger himself open. “You’re beautiful. Mine, my good bitch.”

Stiles strokes his dick hard and fast with his other hand, looking up at Derek through his lashes. He tries to ignore the way his whole chest flushes at the… endearment? “You’re still with me, right?”

“Right here, pup. I promise.” Derek squeezes his eyes shut. “Still thinking clearly… Just all I can think of is you. How much I want my dick in you.”

“How romantic.”

“Stiles, I don’t want to hurt you,” Derek says helplessly.

“I can take it. I promise, it’ll be okay,” Stiles says, moaning as he digs his head into his pillow, crooking his fingers against his prostate. “There’s bound to be some pain, fucking the big bad wolf.”

“You’re such a brat,” Derek huffs, digging his thumbs into the soft skin of Stiles’ inner thigh. It doesn’t bruise immediately, but the scent of breaking vessels and cells parting is distinct in Derek’s nose.

Stiles spreads his legs wider, baring his neck and rocking down on his fingers as he works the tip of his pinky into himself. “Are you gonna knot me?”

Derek snarls, and Stiles can feel his skin split under the pressure of one claw digging sweetly into his thigh. “Why do you know about that?”

Stiles grins. “So you can. You have a knot.”

“Born wolves can knot, but only in rut or when their mate is in heat,” Derek groans, smoothing his thumb over the scratch on Stiles’ thigh, making it sting from the salt of sweat. “So no. Not tonight.”

“Okay, we’ll have to bring this up again, but since your dick isn’t gonna get any bigger, I’m gonna need you to get it inside me,” Stiles huffs, pulling his fingers free. “I’m good.”

Derek drags Stiles into his lap, kneeling up on the bed, licking wetly at Stiles’ throat. “You sure? Don’t wanna—“

“You’re not gonna hurt me, Derek, I promise. Please, we gotta get all this stuff out of your system.”

Nuzzling into Stiles’ throat, Derek purrs. “Can I still fuck you after?”

Stiles groans, tangling a hand into Derek’s hair and pulling hard. “You can have whatever you want, once I’ve sampled the goods and know I’ll be satisfied.”

Derek growls, hips jerking, his dick rutting up between Stiles’ wet cheeks. “I’ll fuck you  _ way _ past satisfied, pup.”

“Show me,” Stiles pants, and he reaches behind himself, one arm hooked around Derek’s neck for balance. He nudges at Derek’s dick, feels the head push against his stretched, wet hole, and keeps his fingers there to guide it inside. When Derek ruts up again, the head pops in, and Stiles lets out a low, aching sigh as he settles down on Derek’s lap, letting his alpha slide in inch by inch.

Derek keens high in his throat, and his clawed hands grip bruises into Stiles’ hips as he yanks him down the rest of the way, Stiles’ ass flush against his thighs, cock buried deep.

Stiles shudders, locking both of his arms around Derek’s neck, thighs trembling. When his stomach quivers, he can feel Derek pushing against his insides, deep and thick, so hot it feels like the fever is bleeding into Stiles.

“Fuck,” Derek mutters, his entire body trembling, shaking between the edges of the shift, human and wolf humming like two sheets of glass. “Stiles,  _ fuck _ .”

Stiles can’t help the sound he makes when Derek lifts him up off his cock with his firm grip on his hips then yanks Stiles back down onto his dick hard. His teeth clack on the next thrust, and he digs his nails into Derek’s shoulders and lets his legs go limp. There’s no sense trying to help Derek when he most certainly doesn’t fucking need it.

The way Stiles relaxes in his arms must please both sides of Derek, because he growls and then says, “Fuck, good Stiles.” Then he man handles Stiles in his lap, fucking him slow and hard.

“Just gonna let you do all the work,” Stiles chokes out between gasps, his cock smearing an embarrassing amount of precome all over Derek’s taut abs.

Derek laughs, the sound tangled with a snarl that makes Stiles’ cock-head tingle. “Lazy pup. Just gonna take whatever I give you.”

“That’s the idea,” Stiles gasps, nails pressing into Derek’s skin so hard he thinks it might break. “God, you feel… I’ve never—so big. You’re so much, Derek.”

Derek growls, kissing along Stiles’ chin and jaw. “You’re so tight. Fuck, I can’t wait to come in you.”

“Take your time. No hurry here,” Stiles says, tilting his head back until Derek gets the hint and starts sucking on his throat. “Derek, I always imagined our first time would be in a remote cabin in the woods surrounded by snow, and we’d make sweet love on furs in front of a fireplace.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“No. True story,” Stiles says. He releases Derek’s shoulder with one hand to grab roughly at his hair, nails scratching over Derek’s sweat-soaked scalp, through his wet tresses. “But this is… this seems more  _ us _ .”

“I got drugged by something trying to kill us and now we’re fucking. Is that what you’re implying?” Stiles laughs, and Derek pushes him backwards, caging him down against the bed with his body as he thrusts into Stiles deep, grinding his hips and holding them there.

“Just that… You know what I mean.”

“I know… I know, Stiles,” Derek says, and he kisses Stiles gently with his fangs fully dropped, claws dancing up Stiles’ sides. He runs his hands up Stiles’ arms, pushing them up over his head and then holding his wrists to the pillow.

Stiles hooks his knees over Derek’s hips, head falling back and moans falling from his lips as Derek rolls into him over and over. The burning-hot, sure weight of Derek on top of him is both a comfort and the purest torture. Stiles helpless to do anything but take everything and anything Derek gives, his hips snapping with determination, his teeth scraping Stiles’ throat until the fine blood vessels just beneath the surface burst into bruises.

“Derek, god…  _ fffffuck _ .” Stiles feels the fever in Derek’s body start to heat his own skin, and he doesn’t know how long they’ve been fucking, just that his legs have lost the strength to hang on and have fallen wide open. That Derek hasn’t slowed up in the least.

Growling through his clenched fangs, Derek opens his eyes to show them burning garnet. He releases Stiles’ wrists from one hand and cups the side of his face, palm clammy and hot. “Kay?” He asks, breathless.

Stiles nods, breathy, high moans being pushed from his chest.

Derek runs his clawed thumb over Stiles’ lips, blown pupils following the move. “R’ll ‘ver.”

“Huh?”

“Roll  _ over _ ,” Derek growls, more clearly, and before Stiles can obey Derek pulls out and grabs Stiles by the waist. He handles and maneuvers Stiles’ pliant body onto all fours, and Stiles twists his hands in his blankets as Derek kneels between his spread knees.

Stiles sucks in heavy lungfuls of air, his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, hole tingling, and he pushes back to meet Derek when he thrusts in, hot and wet, hard, desperate rhythm returning as if he never pulled out.

Stiles yanks at his blankets, crying out so sharply he’s afraid the neighbors will hear. Derek holds him by the hips, hands stinging hot and too heavy against the soft bruises that are only growing deeper and darker by the minute. Stiles thinks he could die like this, dropping down onto his elbows, ass in the air for Derek’s taking, being speared so full he can’t think of anything  _ but _ Derek.

“Good bitch, good,” Derek snarls, his voice so low and sharp Stiles knows his humanity has slipped again. “So wet. Mine.”

“Yes, Derek,” Stiles gasps, only more turned on by Derek’s feral attentions. “Yours.”

Derek sinks his teeth into the nape of Stiles’ neck, holding him down, still, and Stiles comes wetly into the sheets. As his arms tremble and he falls face first into his bed, Derek doesn’t slow down. He pulls back, holding Stiles’ hips and yanking them up so his ass is back in the air, and he fucks into him, relentlessly pounding Stiles’ ass.

Stiles cries dryly and soundlessly into the mattress, his body tingling and burning. He’s had multiple orgasms in a night, but, well… He’s never been fucked thoroughly into a bed by a half-feral Derek on sex steroids, and this many orgasms in a row is frying every nerve ending in his body.

“Derek… Derek, you feel so good,” Stiles gasps, his hands tingling. He’s never felt so awake, like every nerve in his body is being pulled towards something, like he’s found something that has been calling him for a long time.

He wonders if this is how Derek feels when he runs under a full moon.

Stiles doesn’t even realize the pathetic noises he’s making until Derek kisses along his cheek.

“Derek, slow—slower. Please, I can’t… I can’t take it,” Stiles whines out, but his own pain is twisting into pleasure yet again, slow, prickling barbs melting into sugar-honey claws pulling him under, under. “Fuck…”

Derek growls, mouth open and wet as he licks Stiles’ throat and cheek, effectively tongue bathing every inch of Stiles he can reach. He gnaws on Stiles’ shoulders, fingertips pressing bruises into the flesh of Stiles’ hips, his thighs. 

And he never relents. He keeps fucking Stiles deep and hard, spearing him open on his huge cock over and over like he’ll never tire, never be sated.

Stiles drops his head down between his shoulders. “Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he gasps, and no sooner have the words been said than another orgasm is being punched through him. His entire body spasms, nerves and muscle lighting and tensing down against bone, blood beating hard through his veins. Stiles’ vision swims with white sparks and deep shadows as he looks down at his dick between his thighs. It twitches, several drops of come dripping from the head, purpled and tender. He’s barely still hard, amazed any fluid came out of him at all, and he cries and lets his arms give out under him.

Derek growls, keeping Stiles’ hips up as he bears down over him, crushing Stiles into the mattress under his weight. His chest is burning-hot against Stiles’ back, and Stiles pulls at the sheets and cries into the mattress.

It hurts so fucking much but it feels so goddamn good, and Stiles doesn’t know how to wrap his brain around it. He wants to beg Derek to stop, he wants to beg Derek to  _ never _ stop. His lungs are burning, his voice going hoarse, but he keeps his knees dug into the mattress and fucks back against Derek’s every thrust.

It seems to make the wolf hungrier, spurring his actions on as he fucks Stiles into the mattress, thrusts going uncoordinated and rough, barely pulling out before fucking back in greedily.

Derek gets his hands under Stiles’ chest, broad palms spreading over his flushed skin, rough fingers tugging at Stiles’ nipples. Stiles cranes his neck up, baring it to Derek as he turns and noses against Derek’s jaw, Derek’s lips at his temple.

“Derek, please,” Stiles murmurs, not sure if he’s about to break and plead for Derek to stop of if he’s going to pray it never ends.

He doesn’t have to fight with himself for very long, thank fuck. Derek holds him close and buries his face into Stiles’ sweaty neck, muffling the broken, reedy sounds of his moans as his hips stutter, quake, and then stop.

Stiles can feel the come dripping down his thighs, thin trickles when Derek shudders, thrusts into him as if in pain, desperate.

“That’s it. Fuck, that’s it—breed me, alpha. Gimme all your come,” Stiles pants, getting a shaky, numb arm out from under himself to reach back and card his fingers through Derek’s sweaty hair. “Fill me up.”

Derek keens, crushing Stiles down into the blankets, folding his body around him. Stiles groans, his body tingling as Derek gathers him up and rolls them onto their sides, the werewolf’s body a furnace nestled up along Stiles’ back without a molecule of space between them. 

Slowly, Derek licks and kisses along Stiles’ bitten, stinging flesh, one arm holding Stiles close, the other rubbing soothing paths up and down his chest.

Stiles breathes slowly, pacing himself. He’s not sure if Derek’s done. He doesn’t know how the silver lily will react to Derek’s seemingly earth-shattering orgasm, and if Derek is up for another round Stiles needs all the energy he can muster.

But Derek doesn’t move, just pushes his face against the back of Stiles’ neck and breathes.

“…Still with me?” Stiles murmurs, lacing his fingers through one of Derek’s hands.

A moment later, Derek exhales. “Stiles…”

Stiles sags back against him, feeling Derek’s cock nudge inside him, still almost completely hard, thick with blood. “Good boy…” He falls asleep hard and fast, sinking into the heat of Derek and the exhaustion of too many fucking awesome orgasms.

*

Stiles wakes about an hour later to Derek helplessly rutting into his slick thighs, up between his asscheeks.

“Inside…” He murmurs, carding fingers through Derek’s hair, sleepy and aching, but hot all over.

Derek bites at his shoulder. “Too much… don’t want to hurt you.”

“Told you you won’t,” Stiles argues, then rolls over. He throws a leg over Derek’s thighs and reaches for his cock, Derek shuddering beneath him. In the dim light coming through the window, Stiles can see Derek’s muscles shifting, stretching, his chest and arms taut.

He sinks down onto Derek slowly, but the moment Derek sets his hands on Stiles’ hips it’s a desperate, unhindered pace.

Stiles digs crescents into Derek’s chest with his nails, eyes squeezed shut, mouth fallen open as Derek lifts him up and slams him down, using Stiles for his pleasure, chasing it ferally.

It could go on and on forever, Stiles’ body trembling, his cock filling out and throbbing, dripping onto Derek’s abdomen.

Derek comes with a broken whimper, sitting up and sinking his teeth into Stiles’ ribs.

Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s shoulders and comes shaking, his cock leaking a few drops of cum onto Derek’s stomach before they both collapse, Derek pulling Stiles down and twisting them. He rolls onto Stiles and pushes him into the nest of blankets, purring and growling loudly into Stiles’ throat.

“Stiles, I need… Still…”

Stiles pets his hands through Derek’s hair, smiling deliriously. “Go on then,” he sighs, feeling Derek’s hips already starting up a slow, deep rhythm. 

“You—“

“I want it… I want all of it, Derek. I want you,” Stiles says, limbs growing weak as Derek starts fucking into him harder, losing the will to argue.

“Stiles… My Stiles,” Derek growls, a sound in his chest like a whine, and then he’s kissing Stiles around his fangs.

Stiles lets himself slip into a foggy headspace of bliss and humming nerves and the scent of Derek.

It could go on and on forever.

Stiles hopes it does.

*

When Stiles wakes up, the sun is shining brightly through his window, and he can hear voices downstairs. His bedroom door is cracked, but the noise is all garbled and nonsense in his brain. He feels like a tuft of cotton candy pulled in a dozen different directions, like he couldn’t move his limbs without a violent amount of concentration. His nerves aren’t attached to fingers and toes, everything disconnected and faraway. 

His lower back, however, is easy to locate, as the warm, steady throbbing coming up from his ass alerts him to the sweet ache there.

There’s a moment of quiet, the conversation downstairs having died down, and then Stiles’ door gives a tiny creak. He can smell coffee, and pine and sweat thick and rich on hot skin, and something stirs low in his belly.

“Der?” He groans, his voice hoarse from panting and begging for the better part of his night.

Derek sits on the bed beside him, the mattress dipping under his weight, and then there’s a warm hand pressing between Stiles’ bare shoulder blades. “Morning, gorgeous.”

Stiles makes a sound torn between a pleased hum and a disgruntled yowl, trying to turn over so he can see his big werewolf lover. “You broke me.”

Derek chuckles, fingers sliding delicately down to the edge of the blanket covering Stiles, dipping beneath it to touch at the curve of his ass. “You kept asking for more.”

“And you kept giving it. Neither of us have a good gauge on when to stop fucking,” Stiles huffs, finding the will to stuff one elbow under himself so he can turn his face and look up at Derek. “Wow.”

The smile that paints Derek’s lips makes him look even more beautiful, his skin all golden and glowing, his eyes emerald and honey and jade and bronze. His lips are kiss-bitten and swollen, his black hair poking in all directions, and he looks like he’s slept for a decade and had nothing but dreams of really, really good sex.

“Wow yourself,” Derek says, ducking down to claim Stiles’ lips, brushing his knuckles against the flushed curve of Stiles’ cheek. The kiss is short and soft, but it makes Stiles’ whole body tingly, and his head swoops with a rush of blood. 

He can have this. He can have Derek sexy and mussed in the morning, soft kisses and a warm mug of coffee sitting on the bedside table. He can have everything he’s ever had a Rated G for Disney fluff fantasy of.

“Your dad’s home,” Derek remarks, breaking Stiles’ mental harmony.

He sits up a bit, looking around his room at their discarded clothes. “What time is it?”

“It’s just after nine. I told your dad you were exhausted from a thorough werewolf pounding,” Derek says.

Stiles tenses so hard something in his back crackles, and he swats at Derek helplessly. “You did  _ what?! _ ”

Derek laughs, catching Stiles’ wrist easily and pinning him down against the bed. “I’m kidding. Do you think I’m insane?”

“Maybe?”

“I’ll have  _ you _ tell him we’re together now. He’s your father, after all.”

“I don’t like that plan.”

Derek climbs over Stiles, and that’s when Stiles realizes he’s wearing a pair of Stiles’ boxers and his slightly ripped Henley from yesterday, now free of sweat shadows. “I told him we had some trouble last night and you were tired but otherwise unharmed. Okay?”

“Why are you wearing clothes?” Stiles pouts.

“Well, I couldn’t make you coffee naked with your dad here, now could I?” Derek purrs, arching a brow.

“Huh… well, when… uh, when did…?” Stiles gestures between them.

Derek lies down, his weight pressing Stiles into the bed with a warm, dull sting before his aching limbs adjust to the change and sing with delight at the pressure. “When did the silver lily wear off?”

Stiles nods, throat flushing.

“Sometime around three… But we kept fucking until almost six,” Derek says suggestively.

“I don’t remember… much after the first eight rounds,” Stiles admits, blushing darkly. He squirms uncomfortably beneath Derek, who’s watching him with a dangerous grin.

“I remember all of it. You took it all so well.” He tilts Stiles’ chin up and licks one of the bruises on his neck. “You let me fuck you until I was sated. When I pulled out you cried, begged me to give it to you again. There was so much cum dripping out of you I thought it was never gonna stop.”

Stiles sucks in a raspy breath, wrapping his arms around Derek’s shoulders. “Derek—“

“You wanted to make sure the drug was dispelled… You said we had to be sure,” Derek says, grinning as he scrapes his bearded jaw along Stiles’ smooth cheek.

“Well… I am a thorough and attentive lover,” Stiles says, hugging Derek tighter.

“Yeah, you are,” Derek hums. “I could feel it… I could feel my head clear, my body adjusting to the chemical suddenly evaporating. It was like, I still wanted you so badly, but it didn’t hurt to need you anymore. I just felt good… So when you said ‘make sure, don’t stop’, I couldn’t argue.”

“You can’t argue with me anyhow.” Stiles looks up at the ceiling, combing one hand through Derek’s hair, feeling Derek purr into his neck. “Not that I didn’t thoroughly enjoy all of last night, but I am so sore, I hope you don’t fuck like that every single time.”

Derek snickers. “No, that was an amplified boost of werewolf fucking,” he says. “But my rut would be like that. Otherwise, I don’t think that would be a nightly occurrence.”

“…Perhaps a weekly one.”

Kissing Stiles’ neck, Derek hugs him closer. “Insatiable.”

“…We’re… We’re like dating now, right?”

Derek growls, a pleased and dangerous sound that makes Stiles shiver, reminding him of the many hours of the night he spent on his back, on his knees, on  _ Derek _ . “Yeah, Stiles. That’s a definite.”

“Disgruntled strangers to annoyed friends to partners to lovers. What a Hallmark movie this has been,” Stiles hums enthusiastically.

“Last night wasn’t exactly Hallmark appropriate.”

Stiles tangles his fingers into Derek’s hair, rolling them so he can bury his face in Derek’s neck. “So, where can we get some of that pollen? For recreational use?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still really sick, and my body hurts, and my eyes... just wanna take my eyes out, but here this is, thanks to everyone on tumblr who voted for Sterek, that was totally a surprise. (Lies. Sarcasm)  
> Please enjoy this, I was too messed up to read through it all the way, so any errors are definitely my bad, and I'll probably fix them when I'm not stuffed up so bad that I can't hear. Love you guys!


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